


New York Pizza Catcher

by Sheena_Stalwart



Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Apartment, Avengers - Freeform, Awkward Boners, Awkward Romance, Belle and Sebastian - Freeform, Blow Jobs, Daily Bugle, Dark Past, ESU, Empire State University, F/M, Flirting, HOT SMUT, Hot Sex, Indie Romance, Journalism, Lots of Sex, Love, Martial Arts, Mob Violence, Nervous Peter Parker, New York City, New York Heroes, Oscorp - Freeform, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker has a crush on you, Peter Teaches you coding, Photo Journalism, Pizza, Poor, Reader is younger sister of Elektra, Romance, Sex, cute fluff, domestic love, lots of fluff, some action scenes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-05-21 20:32:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14922342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sheena_Stalwart/pseuds/Sheena_Stalwart
Summary: The Reader works at Sorrento's, a pizza place that is open late and sees its fair share of New York's finest heroes. Peter Parker is a regular known for coming in dirty and beat up just before closing time. When his Spidey sense tells him that danger is right around the corner he offers to walk you home- a budding, shy and awkward romance begins. This story features thrilling action sequence similar to some of the character's storylines in the comics but the reader views these events in the periphery as she struggles to start her Journalism career. Meanwhile as her soft romance with Peter Parker plays out in a similar vibe to that of an indie movie romance- she has yet to discover that Peter's secret might be her biggest story and a ticket into the competitive field. (The title is a fun play off of the Belle and Sebastian song, "Piazza, New York Catcher" and thus all chapters are named after Belle and Sebastian songs which very much fits the tone of the story)





	1. She's Losing It

**Author's Note:**

> From the chapter's namesake, "She's Losing It" by Belle and Sebastian: "I go to her when I'm feeling slack/ The girl's using me like a punching bag/ I think that I could help her out/ But the girl's got a lot to be mad about"

2:55am Saturday Night. 

The weekend night shifts are fucking terrible. 

Only five more minutes left until closing. 

The dining room is bursting at the seams with drunk Empire State University students. 

The later it gets the more slurred each order for an extra large cheese pizza becomes. Good thing the night shift pays time and a half. 

And then, as if on cue, there he is again. 

The bell on the door chimes as he walks in. 

Jeans dirted and cuffed at the bottom. A goofy pair of socks flash with each step. His shirt haphazardly tucked in. Hair a brown curly mess. 

He’s a damn near regular. 

Always coming in to order right at the buzzer.

He’s one of a handful that will come in at this hour sober.

And god knows why.

The other sober late night regulars were usually cops or the occasional superhero like Daredevil, Spider-Man or Squirrel Girl.  

As he approaches, you gasp noticing the cuts on his face. 

“Large Pepperoni pizza please, miss,” he says staring down at his wallet. 

He almost never makes eye contact. 

“6.50” you say. 

He hands you a ten. His knuckles bruised. 

As you gather his change you ask, “Rough night?”

He seems a bit startled by your inquiry, “Uh- no! Uh- you know- just uh- tripped!- it’s nothing- REALLY!” He sounds like he’s trying to sound casual. 

“Tripped?” you ask with suspicion, “That must’ve been one heck of a fall… You look like you went through a garbage disposal!”

“Oh- uh- you know- the FIRE ESCAPE- yeah, yeah, yeah, I tripped and fell down my fire escape- Yep!”

“The fire escape,” you repeat. 

“Yeah! Nasty metal stairs. Rolled down a couple flights...” his eyes flicker to yours and then quickly away. Something still seems suspicious about the whole thing. Maybe he was in some kind of trouble or something.  

He holds out his hand for the change and your hands brush as you give it to him. 

“Well… okay then…” you say awkwardly, “Your number will be 65. I’ll call you when it’s ready.”

He turns around and steps away from the counter. You catch him mumbling to himself, “...-fucking fire escape? …. Damn it, Parker-... so stupid… -shoulda said kickboxing-...” 

You chuckle to yourself. Out of all the strange characters that frequent the Sorrento’s Pizza shop, he was one of your favorites.

If you were being honest with yourself, he wasn’t too terrible on the eyes. You know- for a big dork at least. 

He was young. A slim and muscular build. He always came in a little chewed up at night. But the handful of times you’ve seen him come in for lunch- he cleans up nice. 

He’s almost always alone. 

Every once in a blue moon he’ll bring in a strikingly handsome friend. One that you recognize to be heir of Oscorp, Harry Osborn. The two seemed an unlikely pair. Harry oozed with charisma and charm… and well-  ‘the regular’ appeared to fall down a lot of fire escapes. 

The dining area emptied out. 

You wiped down the tables waiting for the last order to be filled. 

Any second now you’d be free! Free to go home! Free to crash face first on your tiny twin bed and still reeking of pizza. A shower is tomorrow morning’s problem!

The regular sits in a booth, hands folded on the table staring off into space. 

You walk back to the register and sprawl exhausted across the counter. 

“I’m sorry…” you hear the regular say. 

Is he talking to you?

You pick your head up and he continues, “I’m sorry I always come in so late… I feel bad that you have to stick around past your shift because of me…” 

His voice is soft. He seems so genuinely sorry to inconvenience you. 

“It’s fine…” you lie, politely. “It’s really not a big deal.” 

But that’s not true. It definitely fucking is. 

When it’s a superhero or nurse off a crappy E.R. shift it’s a little more understandable. But this guy? This guy just seems like some stereotypical business professional of some kind. What decent excuse does he have to consistently come in this late every time?

What is he Tyler Durden? Some insomniac running some underground fight club by night- working for an insurance company during the day. -WAIT- That does kind of match up doesn’t it? That’s why he comes in so beat up late at night!...

But wait- 

That can’t be-

There’s just no fucking way-

Not this guy-

Nope! There’s just no way. Not with those big brown eyes and those damn science pun t-shirts. You’re pretty sure that even his darkest alter ego would say, “Please” and “Thank you”. 

“Order 65!” you call as Big Sal hands you the pizza through the service window. 

You turn around to see that the guy is already standing at the counter, ready to take his pizza and scurry away. 

“Thank you, miss,” he says grabbing the box from your hands, “I’m sorry again for keeping you late…”

“Hey! Whatta bout me, Parker!?” Big Sal booms through the window.

The man’s eyes widen with surprise as he sees Big Sal leaning through the window, “Oh, I’m not sorry for keeping you late one bit, Sal!” he replies with a playful laugh. “Keeping you here is keeping you out of trouble!”

Big Sal responds with a loud, jovial laugh, “Now, getta outta here before you make me regret not spitting in your pizza!” 

The regular, (presumably someone named “Parker”), walks to the door. 

You gather your purse and start to punch out. 

Suddenly, “Parker” stops short in his tracks. At the door and spins around. 

“Uhhhh… You wouldn’t happen to be walking home right now, would you?” he asks you. 

“Uh, yeah? … I certainly don’t plan on spending the night here?....” you say confused. 

“But you’re uh- walking?- Not catching a cab or anything?” he asks. 

It’s starting to sound a little creepy. Why is he asking all these questions about how you plan on getting home. You look to Sal for some kind of confirmation that this guy wasn’t about to kill you. Big Sal was of no use. He was at the other side of the kitchen washing the last of the dishes and singing loudly to the radio. 

“Uhhhh- well yeah, I was going to walk. I don’t exactly have the money to be taking a cab from work every night…” you answer. 

“It’s kind of dangerous to be walking these streets alone at night. Do you live far?” he asks. 

“Like five or six blocks…” you say quietly. His intentions seem harmless. But you really never know in this city. 

“I can walk you-”

“-No!” you cut in, “That’s alright!... I’m sure the heroes are out- I’ll be fine!” 

“No, no, no!” he bursts out. 

“What?”

“Uh- NOTHING! Just- you know- heroes go to bed too… You can’t always count on them to save you- Just please. Please let me get you a cab…”

He set the pizza down on a table and starts taking out his wallet to fish for change. 

“I really don’t want to take your money…” you say under your breath. 

“Then I’ll walk you home!” he insists. 

You take an uneasy breath. If you tell a potential serial killer that you’re worried that they’re a serial killer- will that make them more likely to kill you?

He picks up on your uneasiness and says, “I promise you! I’m not a creepy stalker or anything…. Uh look!”  he says as he rummages through his wallet. It’s an ID card and he walks it over to you. 

It’s for the Daily Bugle. He’s a freelance photographer. His name is Peter Parker.

For a dorkishly handsome man, his ID photo was quite terrible. He looks like he’s in mid-sneeze or something. 

You smile inadvertently, trying to mask a laugh. 

He quickly takes the ID from your hand as he says, “Wait! Don’t look at the picture! It’s really bad! … I was sick that day!”

You laugh and catch a glimpse of his cheeks turning pink with embarrassment.

He tries to quickly recover by saying, “But see! I work for the Daily Bugle! I’m not just some random creep!”

“I don’t know…” you say a bit cheekily, “I can’t think of a better occupation for a stalker than to be a ‘freelance photographer’...”

“Oh…” his eyes fall to the ground and his face is somber. You feel a tightness in your chest. He looks so genuinely dejected, that you start to feel bad for making the quip. Maybe he was nice guy just trying to be chivalrous…

“Wait! Big Sal!” he hollers back into the kitchen. 

Big Sal lumbers over to the service window. 

“Can you vouch for me that I’m not a creeper?” Peter asks. 

Without missing a beat Sal looks to you and responds, “He’s the biggest creep I’ve EVER MET!”

“Come on, Sal!” Peter whines, “I’m just trying to make sure your best employee gets home safe!” 

“Best employee?” Sal grunts with a laugh, “So you’re walking me home? No thanks, pip squeak! I think I can take care of myself! Plus, I won’t be done for another half hour!” 

Peter throws his hands up in the air, defeated. 

Big Sal sighs and looks to you with an honest look in his eye, “This kid’s pretty harmless. He’s got some fancy science degree or some shit… Don’t know how he expects to protect you, but I guess his body would make a good shield…” he smiles. 

“Oh jeez- thanks Sal...” Peter says sarcastically. 

Sal winks at Peter but then wags a meaty finger at him, “But no funny business- alright Parker? No, inviting yourself inside. No coming back to her address later- you hear me?”

“I hear you!” Peter says raising his hands innocently. 

“I’d hate to have you killed,” Sal responds. 

“And I’d hate to be killed!” Peter says, his voice hitching on a higher than anticipated note. 

You let out a heavy sigh and turn to Peter, “Okay, fine. You can walk me home.”

Peter picks up his pizza and holds the door open for you. 

“Which way?” he asks. 

You point to the right. 

He mumbles under his breath, “... I was afraid you’d say that…” 

“What?”

“It’s nothing! You lead the way!”

You walk for a block or two and Peter keeps a few paces behind you. You’re about to pass an alley when you hear him freeze. You spin around to see why he’s stopped and he seems to almost be listening to the night air. But that’s not quite right. There’s something more to it. It’s almost like he’s listening to his surroundings with his whole body, as if he was witnessing some kind of premonition. 

You give him a confused look. 

He catches up to you and puts a protective hand on your shoulder, “Let’s cross the street here, for a second…” 

You’re confused as hell but he sounds so sure and certain that you decide to just take his word for it. 

You look both ways and scuttle across the street. You glance to the alleyway on the opposite side of the street. There is circle of men hanging out by the dumpsters. They look completely hammered. 

One whistles at you. The others start to holler, “Why dontcha come o’er here, little girl?!” and other predatory taunts. 

Peter blocks their view of you and hurries you along. 

The men don’t bother to follow and their hoots quiet down as you escape from their sight. 

Peter releases your shoulder once your sufficiently out of range and you ask curiously, “Did you know that was going to happen?” 

“No,” he responds calmly, “It was uh- just a guess- I used to walk these streets a lot when I went to ESU.”

“Oh…” you say, but it still doesn’t really make any sense. You walk these streets all the time, you just graduated from ESU and still lived near campus. That alleyway was usually pretty quiet. How could he have guessed that?

You walk another block and you hear his stomach audibly growl. 

He puts a hand on his stomach and says, “Oh! Excuse me!” 

You laugh, “Pretty hungry, huh?”

“I’m starving!” he exclaims. “I’m so excited to eat this pizza!”

“Sounds like you might even finish the large by yourself tonight,” you joke. 

He gives you a suddenly guilty look, “... I always finish the large by myself… is that bad?”

“In one sitting?!” 

“...Yeah…”

“Holy shit!” you exclaim, “What are you like a superhero but your power is a really fast metabolism?”

He laughs awkwardly, “I just uh- uh- work out a lot…”

“And fall down fire escapes…” you say pointedly. 

He tenses up and his voice pitches higher, “Yeah- that too!”

You walk another block. 

“So what brings you into Sorrento’s so late? You’re not a drunk college student, or a cop, or a nurse or a hero- is it the freelance photography that’s keeping you out so late?” you ask. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa- not a hero?... ouch! I thought I was doing a pretty good job of getting you home safely so far…” he smiles. 

You roll your eyes and scoff, “You know what I mean! You’re not Daredevil or Deadpool-”

“-Is Deadpool really a hero though?” he says cutting you off. 

“Of course!” you insist, “He hardly comes in these days- but he’s ALWAYS a great tipper! … He has such a great sense of humor too…” you say and your voice drifts into a dreamy tone. 

“Hey!” Peter shouts as if he was personally offended, “Spider-Man tips well too!”

“That’s true...” you concede, “But how would you know that?”

“Oh! Well, uh- he’s a pal of mine! He lets me take photos of him for the paper… And you know- sometimes we catch up. You know- I’m the one that introduced him to Sorrento’s.”

“Oh really?” you say. A heat rises in your chest. You kind of had a thing for New York superheros.

“Yeah!”

“I haven’t seen him around in a while… Maybe you could bring him by sometime soon.”

“Oh- well- uh- I don’t know about that. Pizza is kind of a solitary activity for me…”

You laugh, “I think that’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard! … And it’s also not true! I’ve seen you bring in Harry Osborn more than once!”

“Oh, well- you see with Harry- it’s just- it’s just different!” he says a bit flustered, “But you know what? The next time I see Spider-Man I’ll tell him to swing on by… I’ll tell him that his favorite Sorrento’s employee misses him.”

“I’m his favorite?!” you ask trying to hide your excitement. 

Something of pride seems to swell in Peter’s chest, “Yeah, I’ve heard him mention you once or twice…”

“Do you think he’d let me interview him sometime?” you ask. 

“What?” Peter seems to be caught of guard. 

“Interview him! Ever since I graduated I’ve been trying to get a staff position for a newspaper… it’s just super hard because they aren’t hiring a lot of new people and I can’t code to save my life- So I need some kind of edge! Having an ‘in’ with a superhero and selling an exclusive interview could be my ticket to earning a staff position!” 

“Oh…” Peter says deflating a little, “Well, uh- I don’t know how he feels about interviews… but I’ll certainly ask him…”

You finally stop at the steps to your apartment building.

“Please, convince him! Please!” you plead, gripping Peter’s bicep. He flexes and he tries to suppress a giddy smile from consuming his face. You continue, “Please! I really don’t want to work at Sorrento’s for the rest of my life. I want to be able to afford to keep living in this city. Being a journalist is my dream job! I just- I just need something to get my foot in the door. Come on- I’m sure you understand! I bet that’s why you’re only freelance at the Bugle!”

You let go of his arm and he responds, “Well- uh- actually, I work for Stark Industries in a lab- it pays for housing but not much else. The Daily Bugle gig is mostly a side job. I’m trying to save up some money…”

“What?!” you exclaim, “I’d kill to have a regular freelance relationship with the Daily Bugle! You are so lucky! … You better put in a good word for me over there, by the way!” 

“I will! I will! I promise!” he says with a laugh. 

There is an awkward silence for a moment. 

You’ve never really interacted much with this Peter guy- but there was an immediate connection. It’s as if you were best friends in another life and were finally reunited in this one. Your journalistic instincts were tingling, this man had some stories to tell. 

Even though you were tired as hell- this opportunity might not come around again. A friendship with him could be a good networking connection with the Daily Bugle. 

“Would you like to come upstairs?” you ask. 

“What?!” his eyes widen. 

“It’s late. I feel bad about dragging you over here. At least stay until your finished eating your pizza…”

“But I don’t want to die!” he says quickly, “Big Sal will carve me ali-”

“Big Sal doesn’t have to find out!” you laugh. 

“...doesn’t have to find out…” he gulps and he tries to hide the redness in his cheeks by looking down at the cracked sidewalk. 

Oh, wait. Maybe he took that the wrong way. 

“I mean, I think we could make good friends, don’t you think?”

“Oh- friends… right! Yeah! Definitely…” he says trying to act casual. 

You start walking up the stairs to the front door, “Come on, Parker…”

  
  



	2. Step Into My Office, Baby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the chapter title's namesake, "Step Into My Office, Baby" by Belle and Sebastian: "We need to talk/ Step into my office, baby/ I want to give you the job/ A chance of overtime/ Say, my place at nine?

You take him upstairs to your shoebox-sized studio apartment.

“Don’t judge the mess…” you say as you walk through the door, “I was running late for work and I couldn’t find my keys…”

“Oh! That’s fine! I understand… I lose my keys all the time…” he laughs awkwardly. You gesture to the small card table with two chairs in the kitchen outcove of your apartment. He sets his pizza down on the table. 

“Would you mind if I used your restroom?” he asked. 

“Go right ahead!” you nod in the direction of the bathroom. 

You feel gross in your work clothes and decide to change into some pajamas while Peter is in the bathroom. You strip off your shirt and wiggle out of your jeans. 

Suddenly, the bathroom door swings open, “Hey, do you have any- AHH!” Peter screams, you try to cover yourself with the shirt you’re holding and Peter quickly turns around, “I’m so sorry!” 

Your face feels hot and blood rushes into your cheeks. You try to cover up your embarrassment by responding as calmly as possible, “Toilet paper, right? I’m sorry, I’ll hand you a roll in just a second… Just give me a chance to throw on some clothes first…”

Peter stands patiently, facing away as you change your panties and take off your bra. You throw on a large free t-shirt you got in college for attending a festival and a pair of athletic shorts. 

“...You can turn around now-  if you want…” you say it in an awkward cadence that makes you cringe. You grab a roll of toilet paper from the cabinet under the kitchen sink. You hand the roll to Peter and both of you shy away from making eye contact. 

You sit at the table and wait for Peter. 

When he approaches the table, he shuffles, staring down at his feet and mumbles out, “Again, I’m really sorry-”

“It’s fine!” you say cutting him off a little too quickly. 

“I promise, I’m really not a creep- I-I- just didn’t know you were changing-”

“It’s fine!!” you say with a little more bite this time. You just wanted to forget about as quickly as you possibly could. 

He opens the box of pizza like a little boy unwrapping a toy at Christmas. The amount of joy on his face is almost comical. He digs in with a surprising amount of vigor for his otherwise gentle and calculated demeanor. 

“So, wait,” you start, “You never gave me a straight answer… What brings you into Sorrento’s so late?” 

He freezes, his eyes wide. It’s the face of an honest man debating if he should lie. It’s the look every ‘good’ teen makes when their mother asks them why they were out so late. 

Maybe he was a pawn for a drug lord or something. A middle man. A delivery guy. Something scandalous… He works in a lab. Maybe it’s like a Breaking Bad thing and he cooks meth or something. 

He finishes chewing before he responds, “Just late night lab stuff. Sometimes, I have to work overtime to finish a project and stuff…” 

The answer was convincing and plausible enough… but then why the fearful look at first? Either something was a bit fishy or this guy was just skittish of questions in general. 

After a pause, he asks, “I never caught your name. Big Sal always calls you, ‘missy’, but Big Sal has a nickname for everyone.”

“You’re very observant,” you note. “Or creepy... I still can’t decide!” you tease. 

“Come on, now. You can’t possibly still think I’m creepy- you invited me up!” 

“Poor judgment on my part,” you serve a sarcastic smile. 

“So what’s your name, missy?”

You shrug. You get a weird sadistic joy out of watching him squirm for such a simple answer. 

“Come on! Just your first name! - You even know my first and last name- You even say my terrible ID photo!”

You laugh remembering that terrible picture. Your laugh makes a smile pull at the tomato-sauced corners of his lips. His brown eyes practically twinkle. 

“Give me a hint, at least!” he pleads. 

“You’re a part-time photojournalist! You work with Spider-Man! You’re on Big Sal’s good side! I think you have enough resources to figure out the answer on your own…” you smirk. 

“Well if I wasn’t creepy before- than that would DEFINITELY be crossing the line into the ‘creepy’  territory,” he laughs. 

He leans forward in his chair his arms outstretched on the table. He was like a dog begging for bone. It made you chuckle. You felt so painfully ordinary and simple ever since your college friends moved away for their fancy new jobs and you stayed behind as failing freelance journalist and pizza girl. There was something so beautifully refreshing about seeming so interesting to this stranger. You knew you were being a cheeky little shit for refusing to give him your name, but you didn’t want to let go of the feeling that someone would bother to go out of their way to get to know you. It’s a New York is a huge city with millions of people- yet sometimes it felt like the loneliest place in the world.

Outside of your work friends, you didn’t have a ton of remaining friends that still lived in the city. The handful that did were either in the honeymoon phase of their marriage or busy with their budding careers. To be honest, it was hard to relate to them these days. Everyone in your circle seemed to be living their best life while you were still stuck in reverse and hemorrhaging in student debt. 

This stranger begging to know your name was the most special you’ve felt in a long time. 

Wow. 

That’s really fucking sad. 

But it was true. 

“You are a piece of work, aren’t you?” Peter laughs. 

“But I’m worth it!” you say sarcastically with a dramatic hair flip. It was a practiced comeback at this point. You were no stranger to people calling you “difficult” (or the more convoluted alternative, “strong-willed”).  

“So, if I asked Big Sal if you were worth the trouble he’d say-”

“Oh, he’d totally lie!” you laugh and cut him off, “ He’d tell you that I was a twitchy witchy girl. He’ll never admit it- but I’m his favorite employee!”

Peter smiles and quotes, “Oh- my twitchy witchy girl. I think you are so nice. I give you bowls of porridge and I give you bowls of ice… cream!”

You smile back, “Except, I don’t think Big Sal would quote Neil Gaiman… he’s much more of Goodfellas or Tarantino kind of guy- ya know what I mean?”  

“Yes… I do,” he laughs. Then says, “Actually, you know what? I’ve seen a lot of Tarantino films but I’ve never seen Pulp Fiction…”

“What? That’s easily his most famous film!” 

“I know!... I just haven’t gotten around to it yet…”

“I bet your friend Harry could set you up in some private theater or something to see it…” you snort. 

“I don’t know- I mean, I guess he could… but I don’t know- maybe- uh- maybe-  uh- we could watch it sometime…”

“Oh, really?” you say raising an eyebrow. “You’d prefer to watch a movie HERE!” you wave your arms wildly gesturing to the decaying state of your fourth floor walk up. 

“This place really isn’t that  bad!” he insists as his gaze wonders the around the room, “...plus, maybe I’d prefer your company…” 

You shoot him a slightly creeped out look and he immediately back pedals, “I just meant that it sounds like you appreciate good films! And uh- it’s not really Harry’s thing- that’s all! I didn’t mean anything weird by it!” 

You sigh, pretending to mull over the proposition in your mind. In all honesty, you were usually bored out of your skull when you weren’t working. You haven’t had a friend over for a movie night in a very long time. You could feel your heart thumping faster with excitement the more you thought about it. “I guess…” you feign a casual indifference, “I mean- I can’t say no to an excuse to watch a good movie…”

He smiles at you. It’s so bright you stare back down at the table to avoid being blinded by his joy. 

Peter starts to shove the last slice of pizza in his mouth and you can’t tell if you’re more bewildered or disgusted. How did this slim man devour an entire large pizza before your eyes?

“You know- I could help you learn coding…” he says licking tomato sauce off of his index finger. 

“What?”

“When we were walking home, didn’t you say something about not getting a newspaper job because you couldn’t code?”

“Oh- yeah… I think that ship has sailed. I took a coding class in college and I failed miserably. If I get hired it’s going to be solely based on my reporting. I can’t do all those fancy interactive media graphics…”

“What language did you learn?”

“Learn?- HA!- I definitely didn’t LEARN- but I failed a Python course…”

“Why didn’t you take Java? A lot of people think Java is a bit easier to learn as a first coding language-”

“Because- I didn’t fucking know any better!” you snap. 

His eyes widen at the sudden outburst of frustration in your voice. 

You immediately feel remorse. 

He’s just trying to be helpful. 

It was just such a sore spot. You just wanted to leave the topic alone. It was the only class you ever failed in college and you spent countless hours pouring over the internet trying to understand the material. You stayed up late crying and cursing at yourself for being so incompetent. You hated that your dreams of being world reporter were so easily squashed by one dumb little thing.

“I taught myself a few coding languages in high school… some of them took longer to learn than others. Maybe you just needed to take it a little slower-”

“No!” you say sternly.  “You don’t understand! I REALLY, REALLY tried to learn! I just- can’t do it! I’m not wired that way! Computers could run on magic for all the things that I know about them! I can’t do it!”

This genius kid doesn’t seem to get it. He’s probably never struggled with a class ever in his life. He doesn’t understand what it feels like to NOT UNDERSTAND. In your experience, people past a certain level of genius make terrible teachers. When things come so naturally to them it's impossible for them to break it down enough to a rudimentary baseline that you can understand. 

“Please,” he says and those big brown eyes are pleading and glinting in the flickering fluorescent light of your apartment, “Let me help you give it another shot…” 

You respond softly, “It’d be a colossal waste of your time. No offense but I just don’t think you’d be any better at teaching me… Besides- what would be in it for you? I have no money to pay you as a tutor. I can barely make rent these days!”

“You wouldn’t owe me anything…”

That. That right there makes you suspicious. 

No one ever does anything for free in this city. There is always a price. You give him a leery look and voice your concern, “I don’t believe that. Everyone wants SOMETHING and the fact that you can’t name a price makes me think it’s the type of thing you’d be too ashamed to say out loud.”

He gives you a genuinely confused look, “Friendship??”

A laugh bursts forth from your lips and he jumps back a little, wary of your sudden laughter. 

“What’s so funny?” he asks with a cautious smile, “Am I too old to ask people out-right for their friendship?”

“No!” you giggle, “I mean it’s weird- for sure- but just- nevermind! Forget it! It’s nothing! I just didn’t expect that answer!” you wipe the tears from the corner of your eyes. 

Peter pauses for a moment, staring intently down at the table. You can almost see the gears churning in his mind and then finally he says, “Oh… I get it now…” and his cheeks go a little red with embarrassment. He covers his face with his hands, “Do I really come off as that kind of guy to you?” he voice muffled by his hands. 

“Noooo…” you admit. “Obviously, not- you took way too long to even figure out what I was talking about. And now that I think about it- you’re definitely the kind of dork that asks people if they consider you a ‘friend’ or ‘acquaintance’.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hey! Now,” he says a bit defensively, “I might spend way too much time working by myself in a lab- but I’m not THAT socially awkward!”

“Perhaps you’re right!” you give a sassy shrug, “I don’t know you that well- I’m just calling it as I go along… But now that I think about it- It was stupid to jump to that conclusion,” you start to tease. “You’re definitely the kind of guy that pines WAY to long after some girl that doesn’t notice you. And when she finally does notice you, she walks all over your kindness and then dates your best friend.”

He stares down at the table and lets out an awkward and defeated laugh.

Oops.

Wait. 

Did you hit the nail on the head?

The words seem to bounce off the walls of the small studio as the silence thickens between you. 

He opens his mouth but is at a loss for how to respond. 

It becomes one of those trainwrecks where pushing through the debris seems better than trying to reverse and take back what already happened. You have to commit to the teasing. Make it ridiculous give him grounds to fight back on, get him to talk back to you, so you continue to push, “Like come on- You’d never have the balls to make a move like that! You’d fumble even if someone offered that kind of deal!- I genuinely can’t imagine that you’ve ever had sex in which you weren’t being a passive ‘bottom’, constantly chanting ‘Thank you!’”

Peter has a white-knuckled grip on each side of the small table, you see some veins starting to bulge in his arms and neck, his gaze locks on yours with a palpable intensity and he grits his teeth, “Oh, really? You can’t imagine?” he challenges. 

His sudden change in demeanor, has you second guessing your preconceived notions about this stranger. His glare is void of anger, but he isn’t exactly joking around either. It’s calm. His tone is flat. Confident.

Suddenly you can’t help but imagine, his tight grip on the table moving to your hips as he relentlessly pounds you from behind, on the floor, until you can’t walk straight. You imagine the sweat from his brown locks dripping onto your bare back as he growls his last deep climactic thrusts into you. 

The thought makes you wish you hadn’t put on a fresh pair of panties when you got home… because you might have to change them again. 

You press your legs tighter together, trying to keep your cool. You shrug at him with a fake indifference and tease, “I guess my imagination just isn’t THAT strong…” 

He raises his eyebrows. He’s surprised by your reciprocation. That cheeky and almost flirtatious response. 

You stare him down, with a playful, fake-ignorance to the strongly suggestive undertones of your comment.  

“Really?” he asks with a deep inhale. A twinkle of hope dances in the corners of his eyes. And then you understand. The ‘Really?’ wasn’t a follow up question to your statement about having a weak imagination… it was asking for permission to prove you wrong....

 


	3. Dirty Dream Number Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the chapter title's namesake, "Dirty Dream Number Two" by Belle and Sebastian: "Dream two you couldn't see her face, but you saw everything else/ Dream two was pretty special, easily beats loving yourself"

You’re caught a bit off guard by his eagerness. 

You probably shouldn’t have said it like that. 

That’s the second time tonight you’ve mislead him. 

So you deliberately ignore the double meaning of his statement and reply, “Yeah… I mean- your shirt is tucked in for fuck's sake! There’s no way you’ve ever fucked someone before taking them out to dinner first. You’d feel too bad about it. You probably give girls letters of recommendation from your boss before you ask them out!”

“I do not!- What the- Okay- Once! I did that ONCE!” he grunts and then pounds his fists on the table in frustration. “I can be bold! I can be spontaneous!” he shouts. 

“No, you can’t…” you state dryly. 

He stands up quickly and you jump back in your chair. 

Whoops! You forgot that he was a stranger- who the fuck knows what he’s really capable of! He makes his way towards you and fear pumps through your veins like a quick-spreading poison. 

“Look!” he says lifting his pant leg, “My socks have rocket ships on them! Do you think that was a planned purchase? No! It was an impulse buy!- I can be spontaneous!”

Fear immediately melts to relieved laughter and you slink from the kitchen chair to the tile floor.  

He laughs realizing how ridiculous he sounded, “Do these socks not count as spontaneous?” he says facetiously. 

Laying flat on your kitchen floor, you clutch your chest trying to calm down the wheezing. 

Peter looks down at you curiously, the ceiling light makes it look like there is a halo around his head. 

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“Oh.. my- goodness!” you exhale forcefully. “I -for sure- thought you were about to go all American Psycho on me!”

“Oh!...” he says awkwardly. “...What is it going to take for you to believe that I’m trying to be your friend?”

That’s a good question. 

You’ve been awfully defensive.

He extends a hand to help you up and you take it. 

He lifts you with an absurd amount of ease and you gasp, “Whoa! You’re strong!” 

He laughs and looks away bashfully. You feel yourself start to blush a little, “I mean- I was just- I didn’t mean it like that! -I just- So you work out a lot, huh?..” you say desperately trying to keep your cool. 

That’s when you realize that you are still holding his hand. It’s big and strong. And… almost… prickly? It must be your imagination. But it causes you to hesitate before letting go.  

Peter doesn’t let go of your hand, but you catch him glance down at it and smile. 

You pull your hand away. 

He snaps out of his daze, “So, uh- wow! I guess I should head home so that you can get some sleep! I’m so sorry for keeping you up so late! Especially after such a long shift! I’ll be on my-”

“You should stay!” you interject suddenly. 

His eyes brighten at the prospect. 

You continue, “I mean you should at least crash here for a few hours and get some sleep! I’d feel bad kicking you out at this hour!” 

“I mean- I won’t say no to getting some sleep first…” 

You pull out the futon and give him a pillow and a blanket. 

You turn off the light and crawl onto your bed. 

“Hey, Peter?” you ask. 

“Yeah?”

“Please, don’t kill me in my sleep…”

He laughs, “I promise to wait until you wake up…”

You let out a snort, “Thanks… that means a lot to me…”

***

The next morning you wake up later than you expect. The sunlight blares out the side of your curtains. 

You jolt suddenly remembering that you let a stranger stay over. I mean, it wasn’t the first stranger that has spent a night… but obviously this time was different. 

You are shocked to see that Peter is still sound asleep on the futon. You expected that he might’ve left already. However, some part of you is somewhat relieved to see that he’s still around. 

He’s laying on his back with his head turned towards you. His mouth is slightly open and he’s drooling a bit. It makes you laugh to yourself. 

“Peter…” you say quietly. 

He remains still. His brown locks messy and stuck to his forehead. 

“Peter…” you say a little louder. 

Still nothing. Whatever. 

You get up and start brewing some coffee. The old machine you bought at a yard sale, starts to gurgle and moan. It’s pretty loud. You glance over quickly to see if it woke Peter up. He’s still in the same position. Must be a heavy sleeper. 

You risk changing quickly, even though he’s still in the room. He already saw you half naked, anyway. It wouldn’t be a big deal at this point. 

You pour yourself a cup of coffee and take a few sips. 

Peter is still out like a light. Whatever he was doing last night must have really wore him out. You didn’t have any set plans for your day off, but perhaps he did. 

You should wake him up. 

You sit by his side, on the futon, “Peter,” you say softy. 

Still nothing. He looks so peaceful. The cuts and bruises he bore last night seem to be healing quickly. You watch his chest rise and fall slowly with each breath. At least he isn’t dead, you think to yourself, he was just a heavy sleeper.   

You put your hand on his chest and start shaking him gently as you continue to coo, “Peter… Peter…”

You start to scratch at his chest a bit. 

He closes his mouth and his eyebrows seem to furrow in slight confusion. 

“Peterrrr…” you say again, raking your nails in a slow drag down his chest. 

He doesn’t open his eyes but he nuzzles his face deeper into the pillow and grabs your hand to prevent you from further disturbing him. 

You chuckle at him. 

You try to break free from his hand to continue to scratch at his chest, but he won’t let go of your hand. Even in his half-sleeping state he realizes that letting go of your hand would result in more disturbances. 

“Peterrrr…” you purr a little louder as you claw at him with your other hand. 

He moans as his eyes peak open. 

“Oh! Sorry!” he says alarmed releasing your hand at once. “I forgot where I was…”

“Where did you think you were?” you laugh. 

“Uh- nowhere! Nothing- I was just having a dream and-” he looks down towards his and his eyes widen, “-Oh shit!” He bolts upright and doubles over covering his lower half with the blanket. 

You burst out laughing, “That good of a dream, huh? What was it about?” 

Peter’s face is bright red but he’s starting to laugh it off, “Nothing! The dream- was nothing!” 

“Uh, huh. Sure!” you tease, “I bet it was about buying a second pair of rocketship socks!”

He scrunches up his nose with a snort, “Hey- I am not THAT weird…” 

His grin makes you smile. 

You get off the futon and give his shoulder a playful squeeze and you teasingly say, “Well I’ll give you a minute to cool down, Parker,” as you walk towards the kitchen. 

“Uhh- thanks…” he says a bit awkwardly. 

“Would you like some coffee?” you call over your shoulder. 

“Uh- yeah, actually- that’d be great!”

You grab yours from the counter and pour him a cup. You start to bring it over to him and cheekily ask, “You all good now?” with a raised eyebrow. 

He laughs as he looks down and readjusts himself on the futon, “Yeah- I’m all good…”

You sit next to him again. The only sound is the hum of the box fan in the corner opposite of your bed. You take a long sip of your coffee. 

Peter is the first to interrupt the silence, “I’m so sorry, by the way- I must be putting you out! I didn’t mean to sleep in so late- I’m so sorry-”

“-It’s totally fine!” you say cutting off his ramble. 

“I really appreciate that you let me sleep over… That was so kind of you- especially since you don’t know know me that well…”

“Nonsense!” you say waving your hand dismissively, “It’s what friends do!” 

“Friends?!” he says perking up with a deliberately exaggerated tone, poking fun at himself.

“Yeah!” you laugh, “I’ve decided that since you’ve already slept over… and saw me in my underwear… I might as well let you be my friend…” you say sarcastically with mock- eyeroll. 

“Yeah- well I’d really like to see more of you!” he says excitedly, “OR WAIT- I meant like- see you again!- Not like- you know-”

“I know…” you say chuckling at his flub. 

He’s about to stand up, when he pauses and turns to you, “So hey… uh… now that we’re friends… can you please tell me your name?”

Oh shit! That’s right! … But it was kind of fun to watch him dangle on this thread. 

“I’ll give you my number…” you say with a sly smile. 

“Oh! Okay- that’s great!” he says with a bit of surprise, handing you his phone. 

You type in your number. But pause and ponder over the name portion. 

First Name: Jane Doe

Last Name: From Sorrento’s

You hand him back his phone and he looks eagerly at the new contact. 

“Alright, fine, little missy,” he sighs. “I guess I’ll have to figure it out the hard way.”

You wink at him, “Maybe if you can get your friend Spider- Man to swing around for an interview… I’ll give him my real name to pass along to you…”

“Ohh, I see how it is…” he laughs awkwardly looking down at his feet. 

You walk him to your door, “Goodbye, Peter” you say in a sing-songy voice. 

“Goodbye- uh-”

You shoot him a slightly evil smile as he flusters in the awkwardness. 

“-Pizza girl?” he shakes his head to fling off the feeling of embarrassment as he walks towards the stairs. 

There was something odd about him. 

A story to be unraveled.

  
  



	4. Wrapped Up in Books

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the chapter title's namesake, "Wrapped Up in Books" by Belle and Sebastian: "Summer's hastening on/ I'm trying to get a feeling from the city/ But I've been unfaithful/ I've been traveling abroad/ We've got a fantasy affair/ We didn't get wet, we didn't care/ Our aspirations, are wrapped up in books/ Our inclinations are hidden in looks"

A week passes and still no text from Parker. But it’s not like your waiting for a text from him or anything. He’s busy- doing whatever the fuck it he does for Stark Industries. Plus, he’s got that Bugle gig.

Big Sal has been teasing you all week after you accidentally mentioned that Peter stayed over that night. His first instinct was to kill Peter, but you clarified that you invited him in and asked him to stay.

Now he totally thinks you guys screwed.

You insist that he’s not your type but seems like a nice guy to string along in the friend zone incase your laptop breaks or something.

But that’s not really true. You were a little short on friends. And then…

You recalled how he gripped your kitchen table, like he was trying not to pounce. How you couldn’t help but imagine those white knuckled fists clenched around your hips. His sweat dripping on your back. A feverish feeling came over you every time you thought about it. There was something about getting fucked by an innocent dork like Parker that felt so wrong and unholy. Raw and dirty. Like a temptress imbruing him with impure thoughts. A siren luring him to crash into the rocky shoreline. These little power fantasies littered your mind to get you through the monotony of working at Sorrento’s.

But when you think about it, who really has the power? You find yourself checking your phone constantly hoping that he’ll text you. Every time someone walks in your heart jumps hoping to see him walk through that door.

Each passing day, brings you less and less hope that you’ll see him again.

Business is slowing down. The Spring semester for ESU just finished up. The Summer semester yields a much smaller crowd for late night pizza. Sometimes the lull attracts a hungry costumed hero. Those visits always make for a good shift.

It’s rare to catch a casual conversation with a masked crimefighter. They usually try to keep it to a minimum to protect their pedestrian identity.

Except Deadpool. That guy doesn’t give a fuck.

He’ll talk your ear off if you let him. He’s such a flirt too.

Late on Thursday, Luke Cage strolled in. His presence was so immaculate in person. You were blushing so hard to you could barely look him in the eyes. He left a nice tip for you in the tip jar and chuckled to himself as you stuttered out a thanks.

It made you almost forget all about Peter, which was a relief. Until then, you didn’t realize how much time you spent thinking about him.

***

 You crack an egg into a pan. The substance hisses as you throw the shell into the trash can.

It’s the fifth meal in a row that you’re eating eggs and you’re about ready to puke.

Tonight, maybe you’ll splurge on take out. You’ve been scrimping all week. You deserve it.

The air smells pungently of gas. Is that normal? Or are you about to accidentally Sylvia Plath-ing it? You’re probably fine. You haven’t died from it yet.

' _How short a time the fire of love endures in women_

_if frequent sight and touch do not rekindle it.’_

Those words from _Dante’s Purgatorio_ have been rattling around your head all afternoon. It’s getting to the point of repetition where every single word starts to sound funny. You try to place the quote in the story to bring more context to the mushy nonsense. It was probably from that scene when Dante encounters Beatrice in spirit form. She comes in on that chariot like she’s the second coming. He cries at the sight of her and she scolds him like a general to a disloyal soldier. Dante just crumbles beneath his love for her while she commands him to collect himself and shape up before his ascension into paradise.

It’s a real acid trip of a story.

You start to scramble the eggs with a spatula.

It's been more than a week and Peter still hasn’t texted you.

The heat from the stove and the lack of AC make sweat start to form at your brow.

But you didn’t care about Peter. It’s his loss. He’s missing out on a cool friend.

The yellow eggs are starting to brown and you turn up your nose with disgust. No eggs tonight.

Dante was fucking stupid. Maybe Beatrice wouldn’t have had to call him out on his bullshit if he lead a better life after her death and hurried his ass up to purgatory to fucking see her!

You dump the eggs on plate and turn off the stove.

The final wave of heat washes over you.

It’s kind of funny how you were suddenly reminded of _Purgatorio_. Your apartment feels a lot more like _Inferno_.

Your phone starts to buzz and light up on the counter.

Unknown New York number. Ignore Call.

80% chance it's a sales call. 15% chance it’s an ex. 5% chance it’s a wrong number. You grab a fork and sit at your kitchen table with a heavy sigh. Fucking scrambled eggs.

Your phone starts buzzing again.

It looks like the same unknown number. Strange.

Looking more likely to be an ex. Maybe that one that stalked you for a bit.

You never got that restraining order like you told yourself you would.

Ignore Call.

If it’s really so important- whoever it is will leave a voicemail.

You try hard to not gag as you eat. Just one more stupid meal of eggs for a while. Just get through this meal and then the next one you can get take out. Maybe chinese food? Or thai? Those large portions can last you a few meals.

You see a notification on your phone. One New Voicemail.

It’s from the unknown number.

You listen: “Hey- uh- uh… missy! It’s uh- me, Parker- er you know- Peter. Peter Parker… fuck- Uh- Anyway, I was just calling to see if you wanted to hang out… with me… like today- or some other time- or something. Ummm- I’m really, really, really sorry I didn’t call you earlier… I uh- had a work thing- and uhhh- I just got back.…. Soooo… yeah! Just call me back when you can- it’s not like an emergency or anything- so uh- yeah… bye…”

Peter Parker. You hate how much your heart jumped when you found out the call was from Peter.

You save the number into your phone.

First Name: Peter

Last Name: Parker

Company: Dork with Rocket Socks

You open a new text: “Hey! Sorry I missed your call! I was making lunch. When are you free to hang out?” Send.

You shovel more eggs into your mouth. This time it’s a little more bearable because your mind is focused elsewhere. Your incredibly bleak day off just might get a little better than laundry and house chores!

Your phone starts buzzing again. It’s a call from Peter Parker.

What the fuck?

You answer, “Hello?”

“Hey! It’s Peter!”

“I know… I saw… Why are you calling?”

“... To make plans… Right?”

“What kind of maniac fucking calls, when you could’ve just texted me back?!” you laugh.

“Oh! … Uh- well… I don’t know… I just uh- I don’t know… calling is faster?”

“...You’re a weird dude.”

“I know, I’m sorry-”

“No! Don’t apologize! I didn’t mean it in a bad way- you’re just… different that’s all…”

“Is different good?”

“Don’t read too much into it, buddy- What’s the deal? When are you free?”

“Uhhh- let’s see I should be out of here by like six if I finish that one thing I’ve been working on…”

“Wait! You’re at work?”

“...Yeah? It’s Wednesday…”

“But you’re calling me when you should be working? Bad, Peter, Bad!” you gasp facetiously.

“Hey- I’m on my lunch break! It’s all kosher!"

  
“-Oh of course! I should’ve guessed!”

“But- hey- come on… you have to admit- this is pretty spontaneous! I called you the first day I got back from my work trip, I’m making plans the day of, AND it’s even a work night for me!”

You laugh, “Oh- wow! You’re really stepping over the line there!” you say sarcastically. “Look- why don’t you just come over to my place after work- just shoot me a text when you’re on your way.”

“Do you want me to bring you dinner?”

“What- fuck- OF COURSE!” you say all too excitedly.

“I was thinking either chinese or thai? Any of those appeal to you?”

Screw _Inferno_. Screw _Purgatorio_. This friend was taking you to _Paradiso_ with his mind reading skills, “Uh- either of those sound good! Just surprise me! I hate making decisions!”

He laughs, “Okay, sounds good, I’ll surprise you!”

You say your goodbyes and hang up.

There’s that dumb smile on your face again. That one that makes your cheeks hurt.

Fuck scrambled eggs.

  



	5. For the Price of a Cup of Tea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the chapter title's namesake, "For the Price of a Cup of Tea" by Belle and Sebastian: "For the price of a cup of tea/ You'd get a seven inches"

You sit in front of the fan waiting for Peter. He texted you about 30 minutes ago saying that he was on his way. Your stomach is growling and you can’t wait to eat something that isn’t scrambled eggs.

You’re on verge of hangry. You’re cursing out New York City traffic and Peter for being so damn slow when you need food! The sane voice that’s piping up in the back of your mind is telling you to chill out and that it was nice of Peter in the first place to bring food to you. But that sane voice keeps getting smaller and smaller as time passes. 

Finally, you hear the buzzer for the front door of the building.

You scramble to the button to let Peter in. 

You open the front door of your apartment with impatient anticipation. You hear footsteps ascending up the staircase. Getting louder and louder. 

_ Hurry up, Peter! _

Finally, he rounds the corner, with two armfuls of takeout bags. 

A smile lights up his face when he sees you waiting for him eagerly at the open front door. 

_‘Calm down, Parker,’_ you think to yourself. You were just excited for the food. 

You let him in and tell him to set the bags down on the kitchen table. You were excited to see what he got. 

“So,” he says, “I since you told me to surprise you… I just got both chinese food AND thai food… And I didn’t know what you particularly liked from each place so I just got a whole assortment of things- like seriously- there’s gotta be enough food here to feed 20 people...” he says with a nervous laugh. 

You start to rummage through the bags and your eyes bulge at the delicious feast set before you. 

Peter continues his thought after a pause of silence, “... I know you trusted me to surprise you… I just didn’t want to pick wrong and see you be disappointed…”

You were the exact opposite of disappointed.

So much so that in a rush of pure joy and gratefulness, you felt compelled to attack Peter in a quick and tight hug. 

“I love food!” you exclaim in the brief moment your mouth was muffled by his shirt in the hug. 

You pull away and see an absurdly hopeful look on his face, “Really?” he asks with quiet wonderment. 

You shoot him a confused look, “...Yeah… How could you not love food?” 

“Oh! ...okay, right! -Yeah!” He says shaking off some embarrassment. He mutters, “I’m sorry, I just misheard you…”

You eyed him curiously, “What did you think I said?”

“Oh- uh- nothing… don’t worry about it…” he says under his breath. 

Weird. 

You grab two cups and fill them with water. 

Wait. 

You recall that soft and vulnerable look in his eyes as you pulled away from the hug. 

Did he take that the wrong way? A pang of guilt drops into your stomach.

You hand him a cup of water and he thanks you before taking a big gulp. 

You sit down and start to dig in. You sample a little bit of everything. You were going to make the most out of this feast. 

Peter doesn’t hold back either, for guy that works lab all day, he can sure pack it in. Does he eat like this every day? How does he stay so fit? Not that you eyeing the way his collared shirt stretched taut against his biceps as he shoveled food into his mouth or anything…

“How much do I owe you?” you say in between bites. 

“What?” Peter responds with a mouthful of lo mein. 

“How much do I owe you for this grand feast?” you clarify.

Peter shakes his head, “Don’t worry about it.” His eyes stay focused on a piece of chicken that keeps slipping between the grasp of his chopsticks and doesn’t see the look of shock on your face. 

“No,” you say sternly, “You gotta let me pay you back. This must’ve cost a small fortune!” 

“Don’t worry about it! It’s fine! I got paid today.”

You were a little wary of his insistence on paying for the meal.

“Please,” you whine, “Just let me pay you back! I really don’t like feeling indebted to people!” 

He nods, “Okay, I get that… How about this- you tell me your name and we’ll be even.” A smirk curls up his face. He thinks he’s got you cornered. He thinks he’s so slick. You can’t let that happen. You’re having too much fun holding this little mystery over him. 

“Nah,” you say casually as Peter takes a long sip of water, “I’d sooner suck your dick than tell you my name…”

Peter’s eyes go wide and he starts choking on the water in his lungs. “What?!” he exclaims in between coughs. 

Ha. He thought he was so slick. You can’t help the mischievous smile that crinkles up your cheeks, “Calm down, Parker. Don’t die. It was just a joke!” you laugh. “I don’t give people blowjobs as payment anymore!”

“Wait! What?! Seriously?”

“No!.... I gave blowjobs for cash- duh! I told you, I don’t like feeling indebted to people!”

“Okay… now I really can’t tell… are you being serious?” he says placing his palms flat on the table and those brown eyes digging into your soul. 

You give an ambiguous shrug. It was so fun to watch him squirm at your layers of deception. 

You reply, “If you stick around long enough, you’ll figure it out…” you encourage with a smirk.  

He groans with frustration and throws his hands in the air, “You drive me crazy!” 

“But I’m worth it!” You say sarcastically with an over-the-top hair flip. 

He laughs, “Yes, you are…” 

**Boom**.

That’s the sound of your heart dropping into your stomach.

_ Why do you do this? He’s a nice guy… it’s not nice to lead them on. Give them hope just to be crushed. Don’t be that girl. Don’t be that girl that keeps a smart, dork on the line just to make your fragile ego feel better. It’s cheap. It’s immature. That may have been you in high school.  But that better not be you as a grown as adult. You know better.  _

_ The mind games. The teasing. The flirting. It’s not right. You don’t want to be the girl that turns a good man mad. _

“I’m sorry that I hugged you earlier, that was a little forward and inappropriate…” you say with sudden formality. 

Peter smiles as he looks down at his plate, “Its fine! Really! I don’t mind at all!” 

“No, really. That was impulsive and… perhaps misleading…”

“Oh…” his voice strikes a soul-crushing minor note.

It hurts. But it’s better now than later. You’ve been a bit emotionally detached lately. It’s been a rough couple of years. Pushing people away was easier. Pushing people away was safe. You can’t lose any more people if there is no one left to lose. 

Peter breaks the awkward pause, “Will you still tell me your name if I get you an interview with Spider-Man?” 

A spark of hope ignited but you try to keep casual, “Yeah, of course. I gave you my word…”

“Ok. Well I might be able to arrange something… but you know Spider-Man is pretty busy… but maybe like Saturday night after your shift. He usually finishes up his rounds about that time…”

“Oh! Awesome! That’d be so cool!” You exclaim. 

Peter smiles at your excitement, “Wow, jeez do you have a crush on that guy or something?” 

You start to blush a little, “I don’t know… I just have a thing for New York heroes- that’s all… Wait! -have you seen him without his mask?- Is he’s good looking?!”

Peter laughs, “I have seen him without a mask… I-I- I don’t know if I’d quite say he’s handsome… His face might disappoint you…” he says rubbing the back of his neck. “But he’s better looking than Deadpool- that’s for sure!”

“I’m sure I wouldn’t mind whatever his face looks like… I mean- with that body!” you started to fan yourself in jest and Parker laughed. 

“Oh, okay,” he chuckled, “I’ll be sure to tell Spidey that you’re only like him for his body!”

“No! Don’t! Please, don’t!” you yelled, “Don’t you dare tell Spider- Man that I have the hots for him! I’m already going to be so starstruck and nervous talking to him!”

“Alright! Alright! Calm down, I won’t tell him… Although, I don’t think it would be the worst thing in the world. He would probably be into you…”

“Oh, stop!” you wave him off, “Not everyone’s standards are as low as yours!”

Peter’s eyes widen and a look of hurt spreads across his face. His mouth agape, he stutters in an attempt to unpack your last statement but he seems to have trouble getting a grip on the English language. 

Abort! Abort!

“Why don’t we watch Pulp Fiction?” you suggest and promptly leave the table.  


	6. Is It Wicked Not to Care?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the Belle and Sebastian song, "Is It Wicked Not to Care?":  
> Is it wicked when you smile Even though you feel like crying  
> Even though you could be sick at any time?  
> But if there was a sequel  
> Would you love me as an equal?  
> Would you love me till I'm dead

You hook up the projector to shine on the wall opposite of the futon and take a seat next to Peter. But not too close because that would be weird.

Peter’s posture is rigid. He’s uncomfortable and unsure of the situation. 

You hope that he will ease up during the movie, however, it’s almost the twist contest scene and he’s still stiff with his hands folded awkwardly in his lap. 

You need to shake off this awkward tension before it festers. 

“Peter, have you ever done the twist?”

“What? No....” he says confused. 

-”Right here!”- says Mia Wallace on the screen, -”I want to dance,”- she says to Vincent. 

“Stand up!” you shout to Peter. 

“Why?”

You point to the screen to cue Mia Wallace’s response to Vincent’s objection. She says, -”No, no, no, I do believe Marsellus- my husband- your boss- told you to take me out and do whatever I wanted. And now I want to dance. I want to win. I want that trophy. So dance good.”-

Peter stands up with a weary look in his eyes and he starts wringing his hands. 

“I don’t know how to do the twist…” he says quietly.

“You don’t have to! Just do what they do and improvise along the way!” you encourage. 

“Just letting you know, I’m going to make a fool out of myself,” he says with an embarrassed laugh. 

“As long as you’re having fun- no one can call you foolish!” you laugh. 

So the two of you start to twist and whatever other goofy dance move that comes to mind. Peter’s moves look more like the Peanuts dancing to “Linus and Lucy” at the end of “A Charlie Brown Christmas” than it does to Vincent Vega in “Pulp Fiction”. But honestly, did you expect any different? He shakes off the awkward vibe and the two of you end up in a fit of laughter trying to outdo each other with the most ridiculous dance move. When the scene ends you pull him back onto the couch and he seems immediately more comfortable than before. 

He winces when Mia ODs and you clap a hand on his shoulder in a demonstration of support. 

The gore doesn’t bother him but he turns away for the rape scene. You once again you give his shoulder a quick friendly squeeze. 

“You have a big heart, don’t you Parker?” you say with a smile. 

“I just get too invested in movies sometimes…” he says quietly. 

“You’re a big softy and you know it…” you laugh. 

“Is that a bad thing?” he asks. 

“No, not at all.”

The movie continues. 

Vincent doesn’t have the safety on his gun. It goes off by accident and Marvin’s brains splatter across the back window. 

“I’m Y/N,” you say suddenly. You’re not entirely sure why this seemed like the right time- but here you are, “ I’m Y/N Natchios.”

Peter turns away from the screen and gives you a confused look. You hold out your hand for him to shake as if you were just now meeting for the first time. 

He shakes your hand, he looks in deep thought, “Natchios…” he repeats softly. “Like the ambassador?” 

“Yes…he was my father,” you say quietly. You attempt to quickly change the subject, “Just watch the movie! We can talk about it later!”

“Okay,” he says gently. 

You let out a shaky breath. You just unleashed a can of worms and there’s no turning back now. 

When the movie finishes and the credits start to roll, Peter turns to you, his brown eyes twinkling in from the dim light of the projector, “I’m sorry about what happened to your dad-”

“-It’s fine!” you say cutting him off, “I mean- it’s not fine- you know-  he was a peace keeper that was taken down by a trigger happy police officer that mistook him for a terrorist- but ya know-... it’s not like it was your fault or anything- so no need to apologize- it’s just…. Unfortunate- and really shitty- and reality- and something I have to deal with…” You avoid eye contact and fix your gaze on the rug in front of the futon. You trace the hypnotic pattern with your eyes. You needed to keep your mind on something small and menial so that grief wouldn’t take over and tear you to ribbons all over again. 

You can feel Peter’s kind eyes watching you. He remains quiet. Perhaps he’s unsure of what to say? Or maybe he is giving you space? It’s hard to tell but you’re glad he isn’t saying anything. You’re more than tired of the same old consoling truisms everyone has told you before. The ones that feel cheap in your mouth but are brought forth out of some urge for decorum in an uncomfortable dense silence.

“My mother passed when I was very young and now my older sister is the only family I have left,” you continue, “But we took our father’s death very differently. I was still at ESU- but Elektra- she was there when it happened… she didn’t stick around long after that. She said she was sick of this country and that she no longer had faith in the American government and police enforcement. She’s been in Japan ever since. Training with our old sensei again… I haven’t heard from her since she left.”

He nods solemnly. 

You try to bring the conversation back to an upbeat note so you say, “So basically- I’m alone and I have no family in America… so if you were looking to murder me chances are you could get three states over before someone found my body,” you let out a dark laugh. 

His eyebrows furrow and his forehead wrinkles as a half smile comes to his face, “Why is your go-to thought always that I want to murder you?”

“Mm- I don’t know…” you say cryptically, “It wouldn’t be the first time, I guess- that’s all…” you shrug off the question. 

Peter scoots closer to you on the couch, but he doesn’t make any attempt to touch you or make physical contact which you are grateful for. You hate how people confuse emotional comfort with physical comfort. Experiencing grief doesn’t give people a license to hug you, even if it’s all well-meaning.  

“I promise, I don’t want to murder you,” he says with a forced laugh. “I promise I won’t let anything hu-”

“-That’s bullshit!” you cut him off. “You can’t promise that- There is more than one way to hurt-”

“-Well- uh- that’s true-”

“-And I don’t need you to save me. I have been living on my own for two years now and I’ve made things work. No offense- but I don’t need the physical protection of some lab geek- I can take care of myself. My sister and I took ballet as children and then studied abroad for martial arts as teenagers- I’m not saying I’m talented enough to be a hero- but I think I have handled dangerous situations adequately enough.”

“Oh,” he says. He’s a mixture of impressed and insulted, “Well, obviously I didn’t know that about you. You’re right, it sounds like you can handle yourself just fine. I didn’t mean to offend you or insinuate that you weren’t capable… I just meant that- you know- you didn’t have to do it alone…”

You roll your eyes, “I want to give you the benefit of the doubt- but you’ll have to forgive my cynicism- because I’ve heard that a few times before from 'nice guys' like you- and guess what? People always leave.”

“But I’m not those guys-”

“I know it’s not fair to punish you for the shortcomings of the guys before you, but I just can’t bring myself to take the risk in trusting you with open arms. I mean- it was a big deal for me that I even told you as much as I did- like Big Sal doesn’t know about any of that stuff!”

“Hey- look- I won’t push you. I’m happy you let me in as much as you did… My aunt May- she’s my only family. But I’m lucky that she still lives in Queens- I can’t imagine how you feel or what you’ve been through… and if it takes time for you to let me in- then it will take time.”

You turn to Peter, “As friends?” you question. 

He takes a deep breath, “As friends,” he affirms. 

You let the words settle in the air. “Hey, I know I already told you my name…  but do you still think you can get me an interview with Spider-Man? I really need that edge to get me into the Bugle- I really don’t want to waste anymore of my life serving pizza!” you beg. 

“Of course… If it’s that important to you- I will make it happen,” he says with a smile. 

Overwhelmed with relief and gratefulness, you tackle Peter with a forceful hug and he falls to his back on the futon. 

He wraps his arms around you hesitantly as you lay on top of him.

He says, “You know… you’re making this friend’s thing really hard -err difficult.”  

  
  



	7. If She Wants Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the Belle and Sebastian song, "If She Wants Me":  
> If I could do just one near perfect thing I'd be happy  
> They'd write it on my grave, or when they scattered my ashes  
> On second thoughts I'd rather hang about and be there with my best friend  
> If she wants me

The next week Peter comes into Sorrento’s for lunch. It’s Wednesday. He had a half day at the lab and after lunch he was going straight to an Oscorp function to take pictures for the Bugle. Doing the math in your head, Sorrento’s was out of the way. It would seem that the pizza was worth the trip. Or perhaps it was it you? 

He looks particularly dapper today. Probably because of the Oscorp function. A white button down, tucked into black slacks with a red tie. His shaggy hair gelled stiffly into place. 

As you bring the pizza to his booth you comment, “I think red is your color, Parker,” you say with a sly smile, “You’re lookin really good today.” 

He tries to hide the giddy smile and the redness of his cheeks by glancing down at the table. 

Were you perhaps intentional in getting that kind of reaction out of him? Yes. But it also wasn’t untrue. 

Friends can find friends attractive and keep it platonic… right? 

Big Sal nudges you and wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. 

“Oh, stop!” you exhale as you shoo him back into the kitchen. 

You hear Peter let out a little laugh. 

When he’s done eating he comes back up to the counter and offers once again to help you learn a coding language. He’s convinced that he can teach you. He’s nearly begging you to give him a chance to at least try. 

“Parker, aren’t you super busy with working two jobs? I’m sure you don’t have free time and if you did, wouldn’t you much rather spend it hanging out with Harry or relaxing at home?”

His gaze drops to the counter for a moment as he tries to formulate a response. 

Oh. Wait. Maybe he’s pushing this so hard because he wants an  excuse to spend more time with you…

“Oh, Pete,”  you start, “Don’t- don’t do this…”

“Do what?” he asks innocently. 

“Don’t-” you stop yourself short with a heavy sigh. You didn’t want to embarrass him and call him out in the middle of Sorrento’s for that little (kind of unspoken) crush he has on you. It would also be even more embarrassing at this point if you were wrong and misread all of your previous interactions. What if you are just some crazy narcissist that thinks any boy who wants to be her friend has a crush on her. Those people are the worst! “Don’t- you know- expect me to change my mind…”

“Change your mind about what?-” 

“-Change my mind about keeping you at a distance for now… I don’t want things to get… messy…”

He nodded and glanced down at his feet, “...I promise I wouldn’t expect anything out of it- not your trust- not anything… just once a week a strictly tutoring session. I won’t try to weasel myself into any kind of forced hang out.”

“Why? Why are you so adamant on wasting your time?”

He looked up at you, “Because… I believe in you. And I want to see you succeed.” 

He had a good heart. It seemed too good to be true and that wasn’t exactly helping his case. 

“Alright,” you say, “Once a week you can come over and give it your best shot… But you know… if you ever wanted to come over on a different day and just- watch another good movie or something… I guess I wouldn’t mind your company.”

He laughs, “Alright, missy, I guess that’s fine by me,” he lets out a dramatic sigh and it puts a smile on your face. 

He promises to text you later about his schedule. 

Right before he walks out the door, he spins around on his heels, “Oh! I forgot to tell you! Unless some unforeseeable mission comes up- Spider-Man said he’d drop by Sorrento’s at closing time on Saturday for an interview!”

“Really! That’s great!” You say as you start to blush, “Do you happen to know what kind of pizza he likes? I should save him some…”

“Uhh- I think he likes pepperoni… but I’m not sure…” 

“Will you be dropping by too?” 

“Uhh- no- unfortunately… I got a- a- thing with a person…” his voice trailed off. 

“A hot date?” You say with a raised eyebrow. Because- seriously- who would have “a thing” with a “person” at 3am and not disclose specifics unless something salacious was going down? 

“Uhhh- yeah- I guess- I mean- kinda- but not really- but“

“-Well, I hope you get laid, Parker!” You laugh, “You seem a little pent up- like you haven’t had a good release in a while!”

He facepalms as the other four customers in the restaurant turn to look at him and you realize your mistake, “Oh, god,” he mumbles, “Thanks, Y/N for yelling that across the room!”

“I’m sorry!” You apologize. 

He shakes his head, but there is an unmistakable smile in his face. 

“See ya later, missy!” he laughs and finally exits for real. 

Big Sal pokes his head through the service window, “Maybe it’s you that wants to make Parker release?…” he sasses with a wink and starts making kissing sounds. 

“No!” You shout at him although your face turns a deep shade of red, “We’re hardly even friends! C’mon! You know him! He’s a total nerd- and you know I gotta thing for heroes!” 

Sal just laughs and backs away from the window, “Okay, okay, okay… whatever you say!” 

Which reminds you: You have a real interview with Spider-Man to prepare for! And who knows- maybe he’ll take a liking to you- maybe after the article gets published you could get close to him. You start to daydream about all the ways you could try to slyly flirt with Spider-Man during the interview- even though it would be ethically compromising to your article. 

However, there is a little sting in the back of your mind. A slight twist in your gut. You tried to push it down and ignore it, but it only pushed back harder. You tried everything you could to write it off as something else. Maybe you were just going to miss catching up with your friend Peter on Saturday night? But no. That wasn’t it. You were kinda bummed that he had a hot date. Perhaps all of that flirting and “signs” were in your head after all. Or maybe he got sick of chasing? Or maybe he found someone better? 

But you can’t blame him. You pushed back pretty hard on any perceived advance. 

A rush of turmoil sours your stomach. 

Shit. Are those feelings? 

  
  



	8. Dear Catastrophe Waitress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the Belle and Sebastian song, "Dear Catastrophe Waitress":  
> "Dear catastrophe waitress  
> Dear catastrophe waitress  
> I'm sorry that you seem to have the weight of the world over you  
> I cherish your smile  
> There's a word of peace on your lips  
> Say it, and with tenderness I'll cherish you"

“LIVE FROM NEW YORK- IT’S SATURDAY NIGHT!” some celebrity you shouts on the TV in the kitchen. 

Your heart leaps into your throat as you grab the salt to start refilling some shakers. 

You didn’t need the reminder that it was midnight on a Saturday… you had been dreaming about this night since you last saw Peter! 

You wore the best jeans you had. The ones that make your ass look delicious. With the dress code, you couldn’t do much with a black t-shirt, but you made sure it was clean at least. And of course, you were wearing your black lace panties and matching bra… While it was unlikely that Spidey would see them- you wanted to be prepared just in case!

You took a shower before work, not like you wouldn’t get sweaty in the summer heat, but at least you’d be as clean as possible. You even spent a little extra time on your make-up to make sure you were looking your absolute best. 

The time since midnight, started to feel impossibly slow as the rush started to peter out and only handfuls of stragglers were coming in. 

Your heart thumped loudly and a lump clogged your throat every time you heard the bell on the door chime. 

As it got later and later, the likelihood of it being Spider-Man became more and more possible.

You clean the restrooms. Wipe down the tables. Only minutes until closing and your heart is racing. What if a mission came up? What if he got caught up in something? Maybe he outright forgot? Your heart thumps a painful beat. You want to meet him so badly! 

For a second, you expect Peter to walk through the door… but then you remember that he’s out on a date tonight. Your heart starts to sink and you try to shake off the sting. You need to calm down. 

Just then, the door swings open- and what do you know- it’s Spider-Hunk. His red and blue suit hugging every slender muscle. You strain your neck desperately trying not to immediately eye-up his package. 

“Uh- hi!” You say with wide eyes and a flush of embarrassment. 

“Are you Y/N Natchios?” Spider- Man asks casually as he walks towards you. 

You nod rapidly- incapable of producing words. 

“I’m-“

“-Spider-Man!- I know- I- uh- nevermind!” You say all too rapidly. 

He cocks his head to one side, probably wonder what you were about to say (which was ‘I am your biggest fan!’).

Big Sal saunters out and scoffs, “More hero scum,” he mutters under his breath. Sal isn’t a big fan of heroes. He’s always a bit cold when they’re around. The only thing Sal really likes about heroes is teasing you about how much you love them. Sal puts the large pepperoni pizza on the counter, “Kitchen’s clean, missy. Just be sure to lock up when you’re done.”

“Will do, sir! Thanks for letting us have our interview here!” 

Sal is halfway out the door when he calls back to you, “Anything for you missy.”

Big Sal rarely emoted, but his simple statement was genuine and heartfelt. 

You settle down in a booth with Spidey setting the pizza pie in front of him. 

“Peter wasn’t sure what kind of pizza you like but- he guessed pepperoni...” you say holding your breath, eager to make a good impression. “Wait! Can you even eat? Do you have a mouth?!” You gasp. 

He laughs, “Yes, I have a mouth… which is why I can talk to you right now.”

“Oh. Right,” you blush a deep shade of red. This is already the most unprofessional and unintelligent interview you’ve ever conducted. All because of your stupid crush on New York heroes! 

“And Peter guessed right, I do like pepperoni…” Spider-Man started to pull at his mask and slowly rolled it above his nose so he could start eating. 

“Is your suit difficult to put on?”

“Sometimes,” he says in between bites. But there’s something weird about his voice. It sounds deep but gruff like he’s talking out of the back of his throat. 

“Are you trying to disguise your voice?” You laugh, “Are you Batman?”

“Who’s Batman?” 

“Nevermind! But why bother disguising your voice? Would I recognize it?”

“Probably not. But if you’re recording this you might give it to someone who could.”

“Oh, I would never record you without your permission… I do have some morals!”

He cocked his head to the side. 

“Uhhh- nevermind- but- uh- would you mind if I record you?”

He hesitates, “You can record me… but only for 5 minutes because my throat can’t do this forever…”

“Five minutes! That’s so short!”

“Well… we can still talk… take notes by hand,” he shrugged.

So you recorded him. It felt like the fastest five minutes of your life. Luckily he gave you a handful of good sound bites including, “With great power comes great responsibility.” That line would be a great kicker to end the piece on. 

After you stopped recording and Spidey finished his pizza, you realize that you were back in your element as a reporter. You were no longer a babbling and blushing fool. Spidey also let out a deep breath. He switched into his normal voice which was a notch higher and marked with a distinctly New York accent. It sounded kind of familiar, but it also sounded like just about any young white man from New York. You asked what it was like to grow up in Brooklyn. 

“Fuck Brooklyn- I’m from Queens!” He exclaims with pride.

You smile- all too pleased with yourself, scribbling his answer on a napkin. 

Then a shadow of horror crosses his face as he clamps his mouth shut, “I’ve said too much.”

From there you try to navigate the conversation to his early days. You want him to reveal more of his origins as the masked hero. But Spidey was more careful and calculated with each response since you tricked him.

You needed to rebuild his comfort and rapport. Make him ease up and accidentally overshare again. 

So you bring up Peter- a mutual friend. He seems to perk up at the introduction of the topic.

“Who’s cooler you or Peter?” You smirk. 

“Oh- me. It’s definitely me,” he laughs. 

“You seem more confident than Peter that’s for sure. You seem more forward- I bet you’re a real ladies man… I’m sure you don’t give letters of recommendation to your partners like Peter.”

“It was one time!” He defends Peter but breaks into a laugh and says, “But- really- I’m usually not this smooth around pretty girls- it’s really just the mask.”

You blush hard and stare down at your hands as you start to wring them in your lap as an uneasy feeling washed over you. So much for reporter mode.

“Oh, come on!” Spider-Man teases, “You know that you’re pretty- don’t pretend like you don’t!”

“I- I- I mean- I think that- maybe- I don’t know- maybe-“ you stop short. You were about to say ‘Peter’ but then remember that he was on some hot date. “It’s not that I don’t think I’m pretty,” you start, “It’s just- that I know I’m a handful.”

“But you’re worth it,” he adds with a smile which is weird because that’s what you always say when people point out your frustrating qualities. Hearing someone else say it made you question if it was true. Were you worth it? Especially, to a hero of New York City? 

In the dense silence of your contemplation Spider- Man, “Do you not believe your worth it?” He asks earnestly. 

You shrug, “Not exactly- it’s just that- I don’t feel like I’m doing as much as I could be- you know? If I’m going to have a difficult personality, I should at least have some noble qualities to balance it out- you know what I mean?” You say trying to laugh it off. 

“You know- being an honest reporter is pretty noble. Peter tells me all the time about the crooks at the Daily Bugle that record without permission, trespass, except bribes for silence or to ruin others reputation. In fact- the Bugle even framed me as a menace for a while! I agreed to work with Peter because I knew he wanted to do what was right and clear my name.”

Your gaze flickers down to the table, “Yeah, I don’t know him that well, but he seems to be the most genuine guy I’ve met in a long time.”

Spider-Man seems pleased. 

You sigh, “But I’m useless if no one reads my articles. It’s the salacious stories that get picked up. The heinous clickbait titles that get read.It’s a tough market for central reporting and articles without slant. It’s hard to make a difference if you can’t afford to put food on your plate.”

Spidey nods solemnly, “I know the feeling well unfortunately…”

You make a mental note: From Queens and either from a low income family or works a blue collar job now. You desperately wish to write it on the napkin but that would only make him close up again. 

Spider-Man continues, “Well… Peter told me about your martial arts training- have you ever considered being a vigilante?”

“... Yeah… but it’s not for me. I was never the best anyway… my sister always won. My skulls are too rusty anyway. Plus- I don’t know how you do it Spidey- I’d be terrified to go out every night looking for danger. And swinging from webs- forget it- if the height didn’t get to me surely my lack of coordination would get me killed!” 

Spider-Man laughs, “Admittedly, the learning curve was pretty rough and I still make mistakes. But it’s actually a lot fun. 

You see a sudden smile appear on Spider-Man’s face before he pulls his mask back down, “Why don’t you lock up, missy… I’ll show you.”

 

***

 

You watched Spidey scale up the side of a building nearby. 

_ Thwip! _

A gooey, sticky web attaches to your middle and you and you yelp with surprise. 

“Hold on!” Spidey yells. 

You grip the strand of webbing and he pulls you up the side of the building. 

You look down and it was immediately a mistake. You switch your focus Spider-Man as he pulls you up. 

Damn look at those muscles work. 

He grabs onto your arm and wraps an arm around your waist to pull you over the ledge. You cling desperately to his neck, forgetting any modicum of professionalism. As you scramble over the ledge you bang your knee hard against the brick. 

“Ouch!” You say rubbing your knee as he sets you down beside him. 

“Are you okay?” He sounds so genuinely concerned that it warms your heart. 

“Yeah, I’m just a mess,” you laugh trying hard to disguise your embarrassment. It was probably just a silly little scrape but it hurt like a motherfucker. But of course you couldn’t tell Spider-Man that, he probably gets banged up all the time. You didn’t want to seem like a whiny little girl complaining about something so small.  

He leads you to another side of the roof and hops up on the ledge. He waves at you to hop you as well. He made it look so effortless. So graceful. But here you are scrambling onto the ledge like a baby learning to go up a staircase. 

Spider-Man  laughs. 

“Heights aren’t my thing!” You chuckle. 

You finally stand next to him. The city looks so beautiful. All lit up and quiet. Or relatively quiet. 

But then you look down. It’s a long way down. 

You start getting vertigo and your vision wavers. The dizziness causes you to stumble back in an attempt to not fall forward to your death. Tripping on your own feet you fall backward.

You expect to hit the hard surface of the rooftop when Spider-Man snatches you out of the air and breaks your fall, rolling over a few times. 

“I got you...” he huffs as you lay on top of him. “Man, you weren’t kidding. You really are bad with heights.”

 

“I know! I’m sorry… You okay, Spidey?” you ask, his arms still wrapped tight around you. 

“Yeah… I’m fine. Don’t worry about it… Jack O’Lantern already got a few good licks in on me tonight. I was going to be sore anyway.”

Looking up at the night sky you could see a handful of stars. Little orbs of fire that spite the light pollution of the city. 

It truly was a beautiful night.

The rain earlier that day had taken the humidity out of the air. A gentle breeze felt refreshing against your skin. 

What a waste of a lovely night?

Thoughts of Peter trickle into your mind and you push them down... It was a good evening for date. 

“Oh look! There’s Saturn!” Spidey says pointing at a glowing dot in the sky. He adjusts his arms back around you. Peter’s rocket socks pop into your mind and you smile. You wondered if he knew that Saturn was visible at this time of year. Maybe he too was gazing at the stars on this clear night.

“Uhh- Spidey?”

“Yeah?”

“You can probably let go now… I think I’m safe,” you laugh. 

“Oh! Right! … Sorry!…” he apologizes. He let’s go and you both scramble to your feet. 

Spider-Man offers to take you out swinging through New York. You were completely terrified- but he assured that no harm would come to you. 

You clung to him with a death grip that made him laugh. He joked that you were going to knock the air out of his lungs. Many times you saw him stifle the urge to touch you affectionately. Undeniably, the more time you spent pressed against him in that tight suit during this thrilling and dangerous night- the more your gushy superhero crush came through. Your fear started to ease up as your primal, lustful instincts started to kick in. A steady heat builds between your legs. You squirm against him and he holds back a grunt in his throat.  You gently claw at him and a soft moan forms in your throat as your lower region begins to throb. 

“Whoa there, Missy,” Spider- Man says as he brings you to a nice rooftop with a lookout over the Hudson river. 

“What?” you ask innocently, not wanting to let go of him. You shifted so that your body grinded against his. 

“...You’re uh- sending me some mixed signals here…”

“What do you mean?” you say with a mischievous smile.

He laughs, “Peter was right… you really are a tease.”   

“And who says I’m teasing now…” you whisper into (what you approximate is) his ear (based on the way it sticks out from the mask).

His eyes widen and you feel his muscles twitch. You jump down from him and wince at a shooting pain in your knee when you flex your leg. So much for being sexy, I guess. 

“..ow…” you say weakly, hoping he doesn’t hear. 

“Ooo… you really banged it up good, didn’t you?” he asks earnestly. 

“What? Pshh! Noo… I’m fine!” 

He laughs, “May I take you home, little missy?”

Your heart stops, “Spidey- I- uh- wow- you really are a ladies man...” a nervous chill shutters through your body. You’re suddenly a little frightened. It was one thing to dream about fucking a New York superhero- it was a whole other ballpark to live up to his expectation in real life. Is this really happening?!

“Whoa! Calm down there!” he says holding his hands out as if he was approaching a rabid raccoon. He seems to have picked up on your cautious demeanor, by the way his mood shifts. He clarifies, “I just meant that it’s late and my boy Peter asked me to get you home safely.”

“Oh. Right....” suddenly you wish you were the one wearing a mask. You were certain that your face was a vibrant shade of red.

Spider-Man swings you back to your part of town. Although your radar goes up as he gets closer and closer to your apartment.

You keep your mouth shut until he plops down right in front of your building. You hop off carefully this time.

“How do you know where I live?” you interrogate. 

“Oh- uhhhh- Peter told me…” 

“Peter seems to be sharing an awful lot with you… and I don’t know how I feel about that…”

He hesitates, he almost seems a bit scared for a second, “Peter’s a good guy. He just wants someone to look out for you.”

Peter… Oh, Peter. 

You mind switches helplessly into a sexy daydream. But it’s spoiled when reality sets in. Those hands were probably putting bruises on some other girl’s thighs tonight. At this very second- he’s probably asleep and worn out, glistening with sweat and that after-sex glow. Yeah- so what? - Peter Parker has a certain charm about him. But it’s just lust. A taboo one-night stand on your wishlist. The Pizza Girl and the Lab Rat. It was the makings of a low-budget porno. That’s all. You must keep your head clear. You really can’t afford losing another friend to a soured relationship. And to be honest, your heart couldn’t take another loved one walking out of your life.

The tormenting thoughts start to stain your joy from the night and you quickly push it into the back of your mind. 

“Goodnight, Spidey,” you say with a sincere smile and you turn on your heels to walk up the steps to the front door. Each step prompts an immediate “ow” and you it’s taking a painfully long time to make your exit. 

“Missy,” he says walking towards you, “I can’t possibly just watch you limp up the stairs like this… it’s torture!”

“What?... I’m fine! I’m just taking my time!- I’m enjoying the night air!” you lie. 

“The sun is gonna rise before you reach the fourth floor!” he laughs. 

You’re about to protest with another absurd lie, when he sweeps you off your feet fireman style and takes you to the front door. 

He gestures for you to unlock the main door. 

“So, I guess you’re inviting yourself in?” you laugh. 

He laughs, “I can just take you up to your apartment door if you want…”

You cling to his neck as he takes you up to the fourth floor. 

“You must think I’m so pathetic,” you say as you cling to his neck. “I can’t even walk up my own steps!” 

“Don’t worry about it! I have helped grandmas cross the street before in a similar fashion… at least you’re a lot prettier. 

You can’t hide your smile. 

“I’m usually not this big of a wimp though, I swear! I think I banged up my knee right on an old knee injury I got back in high school when I was training in Japan. That knee has been kind of fickle ever since.”

At the door, he starts to put you down but you hang on tighter. 

“You don’t want me to put you down?” He laughs.

“I mean… I don’t know- I feel bad kicking you out- I mean- you can just crash, right? It’s super late…” you stumble on your words losing confidence as you go. “But you don’t have to! I was just-“

“-Yes!” He says cutting you off quickly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This night was such a long scene... I decided to split it into two chapters! This way you can get a little head start on it:)


	9. Piggy in the Middle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the Belle and Sebastian song, "Piggy in the Middle":  
> "I'm alone  
> I'm not with you  
> When I get in at night  
> The many facets of the conversation  
> Roll around inside my head
> 
> Who's going with who?  
> Who's going with you?  
> You are the girl who for a twist plays ventriloquist  
> The other boys line up to be your pooch
> 
> But if I draw a circle and I walk around it  
> You're the piggy in the middle  
> But I love my little pig until it hurts
> 
> I want to dance  
> Give the boy a chance  
> I want to lose myself in 1986  
> The darkened cinematic days of love and trance"

He holds you close as you fumble with the lock. Entering through the door he asks you where you want to be set down. The kitchen table, the futon or the bed. He holds his breath as he says the last one. 

You hesitate as a wave of nerves renders you speechless. 

“We should really take a look at that knee…” he mumbles in the pause. 

“Kitchen,” you reply. 

He sets you down on the table. His movements careful and lingering as if he really didn’t want to let go. You weren’t so sure you wanted to either. You separate slowly, but then his hands pull away suddenly as if remembering that he was indulging in something he shouldn’t. 

“Uh- where is your first-aid kit?” He says jumping away. 

“In the bottom cabinet all the way to the left.”

While Spidey looks for supplies, you realize that your jeans are too tight to roll up to the knee. You panic and without giving it much thought- you roll onto your back and start shimmying out of your pants with a grunt. 

Well now what?!

Should you quickly limp over to find some shorts? Cover yourself using your jeans as a blanket. Why the fuck did you just take your pants off without thinking this through!?

“Alright, I think this will do…” Spider-Man says as he closes the cabinet. 

There is no time to rectify your mistake- you’re just going to have to pretend that it’s no big deal that you’re pantless. You’re not embarrassed! Pshhh! Not at all… Peter’s seen you in your underwear- it’s not a big deal, right?

“Oh!” Spider-Man gasps as he averts his eyes.

“Calm down, Spidey,” you try to play off casually, “half of New York has seen me in my underwear- it’s not a big deal- don’t be such a prude.”

He hesitates to look, giving you time to change your mind, “I’m not a prude! … I just wasn’t sure if you wanted me to see that-“

“-it’s just underwear!-“

“-MY MASK RECORDS EVERYTHING I SEE!” He admits, guilt oozing from the words. He looks you in the eye from across the kitchen area. 

“Oh,” you say and your face heats up. Now you really gotta play it casual. “So what? You’re a hero, right? You wouldn’t like upload it to PornHub or anything? ...Right?” Your voice was shakier than you had hoped. 

“...Yeah… of course not… I’d never betray you, Ms. Natchios…” his voice soft and docile. Even with a mask obstructing his face, you could tell that he was genuine. Whether he could keep that promise or not was one thing- but he truly believed what he said. 

Your old injury was flaring up. It never quite healed right. You were young and too proud to admit that you were hurt. You didn’t want miss the few weeks of training that the doctor surely would’ve prescribed. Instead, you’ve screwed up that knee for life. A penitence for your pride. 

The damaged tissue was red and starting to swell now that your tight jeans were off. The scrape itself wasn’t even that bad. It was just in a bad place. 

Spider-Man starts to dab at the cut with an alcohol wipe. It stings and you suck in a steep breath to abate the pain. 

“I know, I know, I know- I’m sorry,” He chants. 

Once the cut is clean and dry he puts on a large band-aid. He breaks one of the ice packs and holds it to your knee, “20 or so minutes of icing should help with the inflammation,” he says. 

He could’ve easily let you hold the ice pack in place, but he stayed put. You lean back on the table, propping yourself up on your elbows. You let out a sigh, your legs spread slightly, Spidey in between them, trying desperately to remain focused on icing your knee. 

“Hm- I like how you applauded me earlier for asking for permission to record- when you were recording the whole time…” you say with a playful sneer. 

“Uh- uh- I uh-“ He laughs nervously, scratching the back of his neck with his free hand. 

“You only let me record you for five minutes and you’ve been recording our entire night together- even right now- when I’m in my underwear! That hardly seems fair!” You tease and he starts to fluster trying to find a good excuse. 

At the mention of your underwear- Spider-Man can’t help but let his eyes flicker to your black lace panties. His eyes widen and he looks away when he realizes you caught him staring. A chill shivers down your spine and you are suddenly aware of just how much you soaked your panties rubbing up against Spidey’s fit form. A pang of residual embarrassment radiates through your bones as you wonder if he could see the stain with your legs spread like this. Then again- with his heightened Spidey sense, (or perhaps just his ordinary horny-young-man alertness)- did he already pick up on the cues of your arousal? To hide your embarrassment, you lean into the role of seductress. You pretend that this was part of your plan all along. While you undoubtedly dreamed of these scenarios- you were still starstruck trying to make them real without making a fool of yourself. Ordinary guys were no big deal in a mind game of teasing. A super sexy hero (with a mask that makes him harder to read) was a bit out of your comfort zone. But this is your chance!

You sit up again, slowly closing the distance between you two, “I bet this will soon become a greatest hit in your video collection,” you smirk. 

He keeps his eyes on your knee, “I- uh- well- I usually don’t playback the recordings unless there is something that I need to re-evaluate. Like what a criminal that got away looked like or a detail a misremembered.” 

“Oh, so you’re really trying to tell me that you’ve never worn the mask to make an incognito sex tape for you to enjoy later?”

“Yeah! Of course not! …Spider-Man… Spider-Man doesn’t get any action…”

“Oh come on! That’s bullshit! There’s no way you’re a virgin!”

“I’m not! … but Spider-Man is… you see what I’m saying?”

“So- basically- you’ve never had sex in the suit as the hero but your plainclothes identity gets all the action?”

“Well- uh- sort of- but not really. You see- It’s been a while for me,” he laughs awkwardly.

“Why is that? You seem charming to me,” you purr and gently caress his leg with your foot. 

“I- uh- I don’t know about that- I think you’d take that back if you saw who I really was and- I guess it’s been a while because I’m just busy with work and- being Spider-Man- and OF COURSE- dates don’t really like it when you keep big secrets- ya know?” Spider-Man who started off the night so cool and collected was getting flustered the more he talked himself into a hole and the more he let his guard down. 

You try to reassure him, “It doesn’t bother me, though. You keep your secrets and I’ll keep mine.”

He looks down at you and starts to pull closer. Suddenly, he steps back, while still pressing the ice pack to your knee. He shakes his head violently, “No, no, no… I can’t take advantage of you like that,” he mutters. “I can’t use Spider-Man as a prop to get laid. It just isn’t right. I’m supposed to be a friendly neighborhood hero… I can’t go around pressuring pretty girls, that are way out of my league to sleep with me- it would be a cruel deception! And I don’t want to be that guy.”

“But you’re not manipulating me!” You laugh, “I am a consenting adult! It would be one thing if you sought me out and came on very strong- but I’m the one that’s coming to you! You’re not abusing your power by accepting my offer… I just want to show my appreciation- that’s all…”

Wow. Where was that journalistic integrity again? That shit went straight out the window the second you left Sorrento’s! There is no way you could argue against conflict of interest at this point. The night’s progression sullied your good intent. Now you had a new objective:  Make Spider-Man a close companion and use him to get you more connections with heroes. 

You can tell that the conflict is tearing at his mind in the silence. You need to change the subject and approach this topic from a different angle later. He might be worried that you are tricking him into sex for a dirty tabloid exposé and fast cash. (Which honestly would’ve something you’d consider if you weren’t so helplessly charmed by him.) 

You start to rub his shoulder affectionately, “So, Jack O’Lantern got you pretty good earlier tonight, huh? How are you feeling? Do you need an ice pack, too?” You chuckle. 

He groans, “I’m sore and I definitely got a few bruises- but I should be fine. It was a pretty light night all things considered. I heal pretty fast so I’m not too worried about it. I got kicked in the back kinda hard and I definitely got a big bruise on my shin. And I definitely need to stretch my hip- I think I strained-”

“-Can I see?”

“What?”

“Show your wounds! I’m bored with mine.” 

“Well- uh- this is kind of a one-piece if you know what I’m saying. Without this it’s just my underwear and mask. There’s no good way to just show you a particular bruise.”

“So? Take it off! I had to take off my pants because of my knee- what’s the difference?”

“But that was just your pants!”

“Yeah- so? Are you afraid to be shirtless? Because I can see your abs through your suit- you have no excuse to be self-conscious!” You laugh. 

“I’m not self conscious- I was just saying that it wouldn’t be fair for me to be more exposed because of- gender equality… and stuff…”

You roll your eyes at his cheap grab for an excuse. Peter’s already seen you in your underwear- so what if Spider-Man does too at this point. You take off your shirt and throw it in the direction of your bed. The eyes of his suit widen and you can’t help the satisfied smirk that comes to your face, “Happy? Now take off the suit!”

“Wow,” he stammers, “You are so- you are absolutely beautiful.”

The words were so foreign to hear that they refused to settle in your mind. Your brain refused to take the compliment at face value. Instead, the words bounced off your skull and fluttered through the air vent. Never, to touch anywhere close to your heart.

He sounded sweet and genuine but the gravity behind his words made you suspicious. There was a layered implication of deep seeded affection. It was almost repulsive to you.

How could someone say such things and truly mean them- when you yourself didn’t believe it? 

“Take off the suit!” You command, brushing off the comment. 

“Uh- okay then. Just- you know- don’t laugh.”

“Why would I laugh?”

“Just- promise that you won’t.”

“Okay! Fine! I promise!” You say Raising your arms in the air. 

He tosses the ice pack aside and starts to shimmy out of his suit. It falls to the floor. 

“A jock strap?!” You exclaim, stifling a giggle. 

He instinctively covers his junk with his hands, “You said you wouldn’t laugh!”

“I’m not laughing- I’m just surprised! Like why?!”

“...Black Cat teased me for having underwear lines…” 

“Ooo- yeah- good call… I guess a skintight suit is pretty unforgiving…”

You start to give him a look over. ‘You’re checking out all the bruises’ or at least that’s what you’re telling yourself. Spidey still has hands clasped over his crotch. You pinch at his bicep playfully, “What’s the matter? Do you need to use the restroom?” You smirk. 

You start to stretch, leaning back on the table. You were understably exhausted. You took a deep breath as you writhed and twisted about to crack your back. 

Spider-Man locks his hands behind your knees. Maybe now he was read to play? You jolt upright and scoot to the edge of the table as he draws nearer. 

“I can’t do this- Spider-Man can’t do this…” he mumbles. 

“Yes, he can,” you whisper seductively. 

“No! Really! I can’t- PETER’S CRAZY ABOUT YOU!- I can’t - I can’t do this to him…”

“Peter doesn’t like me like that,” you deny. You aren’t sure if it’s to save yourself pain or to convince Spidey that it’s okay to give into the tension. 

“What? What makes you think that?”

You shrug, “He hasn’t known me for that long. Even if he did have feelings for me, they’ll pass pretty soon.” 

Spidey is quiet for a minute. Then with a deep breath he says, “...Peter has had his eye on you for a while. It's probably about a year and a half now.”

“What?!”

“Yeah, I know. Pretty pathetic, right? I told him to cool it but-”

“Why? I’ve literally just handed him pizza until recently- at most- maybe he thought I was cute for that long.. But there’s no way it was like a full on crush or anything. Okay? That’d be ridiculous!”

“He said it started that way. He just thought you were cute. A pretty girl that works the graveyard shift. But then, two winters ago, it was so cold and snowy out that he started to dine-in more. He watched you study and read for class during the slow times. He loved the way you’d shut down those drunk frat boys when they gave you trouble.  And of course, there was that night when Sal let you take over the music selection for the night. Peter was kicking himself for months that he didn’t talk to you that night. He wanted to at least tell you how much he loved The Zombies after you started playing their album Odessey and Oracle. There were a million times and million small observations that cumulated into a full on crush.”

“Oh,” you say. Your voice was small and diminished. Your heart felt like it was leaking acid. You had so helplessly been growing soft on that man. But then you remembered that he was with some other chick. A fire burned deep in your gut. You felt yourself resenting Peter for not introducing himself early for not giving you a chance now to get to know him before he so quickly gave up. If he was going to break your heart- you would never let it show. If he had any residual feelings for you left- you were going to make it hurt. 

“Well- I guess that sucks for him. He’s not my type. Too dorky. Too polite. Too well-behaved. I need someone a little more wild…” you say as you run your hands along Spider-Man’s shoulders. “There’s no chance for Peter,” you reassure, “Why should he stop you and I from having a fun night?”

Spider-Man stutters for words.

Your hand slowly trails down to the waistband of his jock strap. And now he’s really stuttering. 

He pulls his mask up to his nose and grabs both of your hands in his. He swoops in for a kiss and you jerk your head away and pull your hands away from his. It was a visceral reaction. 

One that made Spidey step back with surprise and disappointment. 

You didn’t have a good explanation for him. Only that your heart still aches from Peter. And of course you couldn’t tell him that! 

“...No affection,” you mumble. “No kissing. No hand holding. Just- ...fun.”

“What? W-w-what do you mean?” he says aghast. 

You grab a confident hold of his member in your hand and he grunts with satisfaction.  

“Come on,” you taunt. “What’s the harm in giving in. We both want this…”

He nods. 

The jock strap comes off and his boner springs forth. 

“Oh!” you gasp. 

“What?!” Spider-Man asks self-consciously while holding his meat. 

“Nothing…” you say swallowing a bundle of nerves, “I just didn’t expect you to be so hung.”

You can see the visible parts of his cheeks redden, “Oh- uh- thanks…” he says with a chuckle. 

“I’d get on my knees but-“

“-Oh right! Uhhhhhh- uhhhh-“ he panics. He swiftly picks you up and sets you down on the edge of your bed. You are now eye level with his engorged, veiny cock. 

You lick your lips as you look up at him. Slowly you begin to trail your tongue up and down his shaft. He lets out a deep breath. You stay to massage his stones. You take time to gently suck on each of them. Until you hear a low rumbling moan in Spidey’s throat. Then you trace your lips teasingly across the head of his dick and he clenches his fists. You look up at him as you swirl your tongue along his gland and pump him in your hand. 

“Ohhhh shittttt..” he mumbles at the sensation. Then suddenly he steps away with a posture of guilt. “A-a-are you sure? And is there really no hope for Peter?” 

You sigh, “Do you want a blowjob or not?!”

“Yes!”

“Then shut up and come back here!” You laugh. 

When he obeys you quit fuckinf around and take him into your mouth. His girth makes your jaw start to ache and your panties nearly drip at the thought of him thrusting his rod into your pussy. Slowly you work your way further and further down his cock. Each inch that goes further in makes him moans. Excess saliva starts to fill your mouth and coat his shaft making it easier to slide up and downs. He runs his fingers through your hair and for a second you think he’s about to face fuck you, but he doesn’t. He merely runs the pads of his fingers along your scalp and eventually they trail down to your shoulders and he rubs them appreciatively. When you close your eyes his tactile fingers feel good, releasing a rush. But when you close your eyes you start to tell yourself it’s Peter’s cock your sucking. But that only makes you angry. This is not Peter. This is Spidey. And you were going to give Spidey the best damn blowjob ever so that he could tell Peter and Peter would realize what he was missing out on. You fling his hands from your shoulders and he apologizes. You look up at the masked man as you pick up the pace. His groans start to build quickly and he curses under his breath. You can feel his penis start to surge as he gets close to climax. 

Suddenly he lets out a loud and almost surprised moan. You feel a thick salty fluid enter your mouth and you swallow it as it comes out. 

“Ohhh god that was amazing…” he mumbles and steps back. 

You squint to read the time on the kitchen clock, “That was two minutes….”

  
  



End file.
